FIFTEEN #3
The girl is already moving again, bandana tight and eyes narrowed. She kicks the canister back toward the stairwell before it fully blooms and it rolls to a stop near the looters. Their own smoke swallows them whole, and Ewan grins despite everything. “Tiny Terror is packing some jokes.”
She gives him a look that could kill. “Tiny Terror is packing knives sharp enough to skin you alive.”
Ewan only nods. “I’m capable of respecting both.”
The smoke only gives us three seconds, so I use them instead of listening to Ewan cracking jokes.
“Xeon, pilot. Ewan, cover. Kaito, you’re with me.” I look at the masked girl. “You know the route?”
Her eyes flash at me giving her a job instead of grappling for control.
She nods once, sharp and almost invisible, right before she bolts for the maintenance door next to the grate instead of the grate itself.
It’s smaller, half-hidden behind pipes, but she saw it before I did. Because of course she did.
“Locked,” Kaito says.
“Everything is locked,” the girl snaps. “As soon as the world ended, the doors decided it was their time to shine and grew smug.”
Then she pulls something out of her pocket. A bent tool of some sort, made of thin metal. A hairpin, maybe? Or a part of one. Hell, maybe it’s just scavenged scrap. Whatever it is, she uses it with fast hands and a determination that almost impresses me.
A fast Rot slams into the grate again, rattling the vending machine, and the grate buckles inward.
“Kota,” Kaito warns.
Her hand slips, and she freezes for all of two seconds at the name. Another shot bursts from the stairwell, and she goes straight back to work, gritting out, “Don’t call me that right now.”
“Sorry,” Kaito breathes quietly.
Just then, I hear a click and the door opens. The girl doesn’t acknowledge the apology, simply orders, “Move.”
This time, nobody argues, not even me.
We all pile into a narrower passage, Xeon hauling the pilot through first. Ewan backs in after him, firing shots through the door. Kaito follows after, stumbling just enough for the girl’s hand to twitch toward him before she catches herself and turns it into a gesture to the doorway.
I catch that, too. And I hate how much I’m seeing.
I’m last to go through the doorway just as a looter finally frees himself from the smoke at the same time the fast Rot finally bends the grate enough to force an arm through.
Yellow Scarf raises his rifle, ready to shoot, but then the masked girl steps into the doorway next to me and throws her knife. It buries itself into his shoulder instead of his throat in a move that looked purposeful. The shot goes wide and he falls back with a nasty snarl.
Yanking another blade from somewhere I didn’t see, she points it in Yellow Scarf’s direction and says, “That’s the one that took the helicopter pack.”
The bastard in question scrambles back through the smoke, clutching the stolen cargo strap in his good hand. Two of his people pull him away, and I realize then they’re retreating. Not defeated, but choosing to leave with what they already have.
That’s worse.
I fire once, but the smoke swallows the shot. The looters disappear up the stairwell with part of the helicopter cargo, leaving Rots to cover their retreat. It’s then I’m reminded once more of the military discipline. The brutality and planning. This was never just scavenging.
“Door,” the girl snaps suddenly, and I slam it shut without question.
Kaito jams the bent lock plate with the pipe while Ewan wedges a different pipe through the handle.
Xeon drags a shelf across with one hand, keeping the pilot upright with the other, just as something hits the other side.
It hits once, then twice, shaking the passage we stand in.
Surprisingly, the door holds. At least, for now.
Silence doesn't fall between us after that, because the building is too full of screams and screeches, but we do allow ourselves a small pocket to breathe. It’s only brief, temporary, but it’s enough to matter.
I look around the narrow passage. Xeon is pale but steady, one hand pressed against the pilot’s bleeding side. Ewan’s hair is damp against his forehead, headphones now crooked around his neck and mouth shut for once. Kaito has one hand braced on the wall, blood darkening through his shirt.
But the girl? She stands apart from us all, knife in hand, cap shoved under her jacket like a wound she’s trying to hide or protect with her ribs. She’s breathing hard. A little too hard. But her eyes remain clear and sharp.
On me.
On Ewan.
On Xeon.
On Kaito.
On the door.
Not once does she ever allow herself to look relieved and a thought crosses my mind then. She’s too young to be that tired, and too tired to be that young. It’s that thought that has me lowering my rifle by a single inch.
“You saved my shot,” I mutter.
She stares at me.
“The knife,” I clarify. “Yellow Scarf guy.”
Her eyes narrow on me, suspicion filling them now. “He had cargo.”
“That the only reason?” I question bluntly.
“Yes,” she answers quickly.
Lie. Maybe. Maybe not? It’s hard to tell with her.
Ewan clears his throat, drawing everyone’s attention. “Have to say, for what it’s worth, I’m actually pretty chuffed none of us got turned into wall art. Huge fan of these results, team.”
The girl looks at him, appearing as exhausted as I usually am dealing with him. “Anyone ever tell you you talk a lot?”